Close Your Eyes
by OptimisticLady
Summary: A rainy day in London proves to be more practical than one originally thought. Sherlock/OC


**Short, fluffy one-shot for Myseybee, set during my fic Returning the Favour.**

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They always had to go into Scotland Yard and answer questions about a case they got far too involved in. Generally speaking, it was when they near enough ended up as victims. It was just lucky that Katrina could rely on John, who could rely on Sherlock and that Sherlock could rely on his own extensive knowledge to either get them out of the position of victim, or perhaps even lie to the police. Yes, it was dangerous to do the latter, but it was often necessary.

Sometimes, there was no John for Katrina to rely on, meaning that she had to outright rely on Sherlock. That wasn't a bad thing, it was just a very hard thing to do, especially when he wouldn't reveal the whole plan to her – he would only give snippets and tell her to go along.

Today of all the days, there had been no John either.

The more-likely-than-not pair came out of Scotland Yard only to find themselves in the midst of a rainstorm without any umbrellas. There were no cabs in sight, and any cabs that seemed to be available were taken before they could even reach them. So not wanting to get any more soaked, Sherlock and Katrina hurried back inside to the building in order to wait for the rain to let up.

In silence they sat in the reception, sitting in those uncomfortable chairs next to each other, watching the people pass by – ever since Trafalgar Square, they had grown accustomed to people watching together – and would silently make deductions. Naturally, Sherlock's would be one hundred percent valid, and there would be more of them, while Katrina's may not have always been one hundred percent valid or in a great quantity. She still tried.

"Why don't we just walk as much of the way as possible?" she eventually suggested after an hour. Sherlock turned to stare at her.

"We don't have umbrellas."

"No. No we don't. But that hardly matters, does it?" a half smile appeared on her face – a common sight on her sharp features.

"We'll get wet."

"Who cares?"

"Clearly not you."

"Do you care?"

"When do I ever care?" Sherlock sighed, standing up. "Come on," he beckoned at Katrina and she followed after him. They paused by the doors for a few moments, before eventually braving the heavy storm outside. No umbrellas whatsoever. Yet again, no cabs in sight – the cabs were all probably stuck more towards the city centre in traffic as people panicked about the weather. How very typically British. You wish for rain and then you don't want it. You wish for the sun and then you don't want it. There was no winning with the nation.

Sherlock and Katrina ran down the streets, splashing their way through the puddles and trying not to slip over. They took back routes to get to Baker Street – what was the point in trying to find a cab when they were already soaking wet? – and they were absolutely freezing.

But they didn't care.

Until of course Katrina went and tripped over a crack in the pavement. She came crashing down to the ground in a puddle, becoming even more drenched than she already was. She landed on her hand awkwardly.

"Sherlock! – god..." she called after him, as he didn't really notice. When Sherlock heard her voice, he came hurrying back, his usually curly hair now sticking flat to his head.

"What happened?"

"I fell, obviously," Katrina rolled her eyes as she stood up, cradling her hand. "This better not be broken..."

"You'd be in more pain if it were," Sherlock gently took hold of it, examining her smaller hand, slender fingers and wrist. "Sprain. It's just a sprain."

"Kiss it better," she blurted out, not even embarrassed. She was just _grinning_ at him. Sherlock frowned.

"What? That won't–"

"I know that. Just... just kiss it for me – carefully," Katrina's grin turned to a more sweet smile. This was a strange yet brilliant opportunity for her to try and a get him to show some affection.

"No."

"Please?"

Sherlock studied her slightly pleading features for a moment or two, before sighing.

"Fine," he gingerly pressed his lips to the top of her hand and then he allowed her to take it back.

But before Sherlock knew it, soft, damp lips were being pressed against his own, and he flailed for half a second, when he eventually realised that Katrina had used that small moment to essentially trick him – although her hand was _actually_ sprained – and kiss him. She tricked him into getting into close proximity with her, so she could perform the most cliché of actions.

Except he found it rather endearing that she would want to do that cliché action with _him_.

Eventually his arms found their way around her body and he held her tight – although carefully, because of her stupid wrist, after all. Yet almost as soon as he had fully gotten into it, Katrina pulled away from Sherlock and grinned that stupid grin at him.

"Come on, Kat, let's go home," Sherlock then said, holding out his hand to her and she took it with her uninjured one.

And off they sped once more.

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**Comment?**

**-OL**


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